WebJournal - The blog will set you freeNews of no interest whatsoever except to very close and patient friends and family members and maybe people with no life

Wednesday, March 03, 2004

The attack of the giant albino

On Friday I was peacefully sitting in my seat, waiting for the train to stop at Union Station in D.C. when this giant blond guy, your typical salesman in a black suit, loud and obnoxious, tried to get to the door and bumped into my luggage.
He shouted something at me to the effect that he was a pain in the ass. I smiled politely and replied I had not said that. He said he was reading my mind and then tried to get to the door again to the sound of several "Shit!" while he dropped his bag and could not open the door. He then came back, sat right across me and hollered something in my direction. I think he was asking me where I was going. D.C., I said, to visit with friends. He then shouted "What bars do you go to?". That took me by surprise. I really was not expecting such a direct question. I still can't believe my answer but I actually assured him I did not go to bars (I probably had liar written all over my face). I felt guilty for lying. He did not like the answer. He insisted. He asked why. He asked my age. I had to admit I do go to bars and felt obliged to explain that I usually do not go to bars in D.C. because I stay with friends. Why on Earth do I feel like I have to answer whatever questions anybody feels like asking? Sometimes I am afraid somebody will inquire about my bowel movements and I will not be able to shut up.
The giant albino also asked me the token "Where are you from?" question. I told him, although I knew he would think I was making it up and probably making up the name of the country too. He laughed me off with a "Oh, yeah, sure" or a "Get outta here". Guess he didn't believe me.
I think he then muttered something disparaging about his wife (how on Earth can somebody like that ever find a mate????). As soon as the train stopped at Union Station I ran full speed to the exit hoping he would not catch up with me at the taxi stand. He was one scary dude.

Should I want what everybody else wants?

I am finding myself in the absurd position of having to work my butt off for something I am not even sure I want. I am sort of enjoying the process and even the long hours. Still, the carrot at the end ain't much of a price.

[iTunes was playing "Harder to Breathe" by A. Levine & J. Carmichael, among others, while I was writing this.]

OK, I prepared the perfect Opal-like songlist for iTunes and my iPod. What better activity for the wee hours?